


I thought I fought this war alone

by stonefreeak



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Minor Original Character(s), Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 14:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17122898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonefreeak/pseuds/stonefreeak
Summary: Obi-Wan is thirteen years old, just about to start learning Ataru from his Master.Obi-Wan is sixty-one years old, dead and one with the Force since four years back.Obi-Wan is both, and neither.





	I thought I fought this war alone

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by lyrics from the song "War" by Poets of the Fall.
> 
> Thanks to the lovely Dendral for helping me reign in my amazing typo skills and some awkward phrasings

Obi-Wan wakes up screaming. All his nerves seem on fire, every sensation—smell, touch, sound—is too much for him, and when his eyes open the light seems to _burn_.

Voices—shouting—and heavy footsteps, someone’s running, and then firm hands on his upper arms. _Pain_. He screams himself hoarse and squeezes his eyes shut again, presses his hands over his ears and tries not to feel so much.

He was one with the Force. He was one with the Force and at peace. He didn’t _feel_ and now he’s been ripped from it and every sensation is too much.

His screaming peters off into sobs—heavy, full-body things that leave him limp in the grasp of whoever it is that holds him. Even as he tries to shut everything out, he can hear someone call for him. The voice is familiar, but before he can place it, Obi-Wan loses consciousness.

  


* * *

  


The next time Obi-Wan wakes up, he doesn’t let out a single sound. He opens his eyes carefully to find a dark and silent room.

He’s lying on a bed, the feeling of fabric against skin—bedclothes, duvet, pillow beneath his cheek—is still almost too much for him, but without the added overload of his other senses, he can handle it.

He keeps his breathing slow and tries to think, but everything is a big mess in his head and he can’t make sense of it. He _died_. He was one with the Force. He was at peace. And now he’s not. He’s alive. He’s breathing. He presses a hand against his chest and can feel his own heartbeat.

But there’s something… something wrong. Something beyond the fact that he’s alive when he should be dead and at peace, at rest.

He reaches for the Force—reaches for help and guidances as he has done before more times than he can count—and… his mind brushes against another. There’s another presence so close and warm in his mind, so familiar.

He doesn’t understand. What’s going on? Who—?

A feeling or reassurance, of warmth and comfort, suddenly fills his mind; it comes from the bond, sent to him from the presence in his head. Obi-Wan could _cry_ ; he knows that presence so well—remembers this feeling so fondly.

“Master,” he whispers into the room.

That. That’s another thing that’s wrong. _His voice_ is wrong.

Obi-Wan squints at his hands in the dark. _His hands_ are wrong.

The presence in his head should be gone since many years past, his voice is too high-pitched, and his hands too small.

“Obi-Wan.” A soft, warm rumble from an achingly familiar voice. _Master_.

Obi-Wan turns over to his other side. Sitting in a chair by the bed, looking wrung out and more tired than Obi-Wan can remember having seen him before, is Qui-Gon Jinn.

“Do you feel better now, little one?” Qui-Gon says in a hushed voice and leans closer, his hand resting on the bed between them, but carefully not touching Obi-Wan—clearly trying to avoid overstimulating him.

_Little one_ … It’s an _old_ nickname… no, it isn’t. _It isn’t_. Obi-Wan’s head is spinning, he can’t make sense of things. There are so many new memories in his head and he knows he was dead and he was _old_ , but saying that he’s still old feels _wrong_.

He’s old but he’s not. He’s young but he’s not. He’s little but he’s big.

Obi-Wan reaches out and touches his Master’s hand carefully. It’s so warm. The sensation of warm skin against his own feels like so long ago, and Obi-Wan wants to break down crying again. But he won’t. He’s better, he’ll be fine. His Master is here and he can do _anything_.

Obi-Wan is _safe_.

“Yes…” he whispers.

The sensory overload and hypersensitivity slowly fade the longer Obi-Wan remains awake and aware. Qui-Gon doesn't leave his side for a second, and for that Obi-Wan is more grateful than he can express. It's grounding and comforting to have him there, large and warm.

After about half an hour of talking in hushed voices, Obi-Wan curls up in his Master's arms. They fall silent again and Obi-Wan takes the opportunity to try and understand what is going on.

He was going to the training halls to meet his Master. They were going to start working on Ataru today; Obi-Wan had been looking forward to it all week.

No... No. He was dead. One with the Force and finally at rest after Luke finally defeated the Emperor through kindness—by finally getting Anakin to leave the Dark. He'd said his goodbye to Luke and finally faded into the Force.

He's sixty-one years old, fifty-seven in life and four in death. He's a Jedi Master and one of the last survivors of the Jedi Order.

No...

He's thirteen. He's thirteen and an in-Temple Padawan—still too young to go on missions that would take him off Coruscant.

The Force whispers in his ears, and Obi-Wan _knows_. He both is and isn’t. A body containing two souls, slowly merging to become one.

Soon he won’t be either, he will become something different—a third Obi-Wan Kenobi, made up of the parts of the thirteen year-old and the sixty-one year-old. He will become something entirely new made up of the old.

  


* * *

  


It’s strange, trying to relearn himself. He’s walked into a few walls—expecting to be able to walk _through_ them—but he also finds himself overcompensating for skills and falling flat on his face.

The thirteen year-old and the sixty-one year-old not yet merged into what they will one day become. The thirteen year-old must learn what the sixty-one year old already knows, and the sixty-one year-old must remember what being thirteen is like.

Obi-Wan sees his Master’s worry, feels it in the Force and in the large, gentle hands steadying him, treating his cuts and bruises, and in the large body pulling him close, keeping him warm, and anchoring him to the now of reality.

He sleeps a lot.

He goes to the healers a lot.

He sees the mindhealers for awhile—he doesn’t tell them anything, he can’t, not until he _knows_. Which is when they bring in the metaphorical big blasters, Master Bharani Hestish herself; head mindhealer and one of the Order’s most sensitive empaths.

He’s not _really_ surprised to see her, he’d expected them to bring her in, but at the same time he is. The part of him that is old remembers her as having died on a mission to Imenth with her padawan, even if that would be years from now. It happened a few years after Anakin came to the Temple—pain shoots through him at the memory of his padawan, but he shoves it down down down and turns his attention to Bharani Hestish instead.

She glides into the room with a rustle of white cloth, a gentle smile on her face.

“Hello, Padawan Kenobi. I am Bharani Hestish, and I am very pleased to meet you.”

She means that—he can tell—and part of him wants to talk to her. Wants to explain _everything_ to her. But he can’t. Not yet.

She brushes a lock of white hair behind her ear and smiles again, gentle and patient, and Obi-Wan steels himself for the disappointment all the masters will feel when even she fails.

Needs must. Even the younger parts of himself understands that.

His master never started his ataru training. Has it on hold until Obi-Wan has a clear bill of health, physically and mentally.

It’s disappointing, Obi-Wan _wants_ to practice, learn, again.

However, he’s not just an impatient child anymore, he’s also a very patient Jedi Master.

He can wait.

  


* * *

  


Obi-Wan hums to himself, a gentle desert hymn he learned on Tatooine, as he sways gently from side to side next to his master in the shuttle ship heading for the Senate.

He’s noticed that Master Qui-Gon seems to relax just a bit, the strain around his eyes lessening just a smidgen, when Obi-Wan acts more like a typical young Jedi. Even though he’s not typical at all, not anymore.

No missions, no real training, just gentle katas and lots and lots of meditation.

The peace of it has been good for Obi-Wan.

Centering himself in his body, connecting himself to the now, tethering himself to this plane of existence… All of it needed and necessary.

The two souls are slowly, slowly merging.

He’s still old and young at the same time.

A perfect storm of clashing personality traits in the mix of a child and an adult.

He’ll improve. Get better. Heal.

The Force has given him a second chance, and he will not waste it.

But there’s nothing he can do before he’s healed, he knows that much. He leans against Qui-Gon’s arm, and soaks in the feeling of a warm body against his own, and the peace of a strong mind gently tethered to his own.

He’s missed him so much.

  


* * *

  


“Master Jinn, how swell that you could come!” Senator Harbash is a very large Mon Calamari. Well, large when it comes to _circumference_ at any rate. He’s also very jovial and the air around him seems suffused with joy and good humour.

Obi-Wan instantly likes him.

“Of course, Senator Harbash. I hope you don’t mind that I brought my Padawan along. I thought seeing the Senate would be good for his education.”

More like Master Qui-Gon still doesn’t want Obi-Wan to be out of his sight for too long stretches of time. It’s both annoying and comforting.

“No trouble at all, my friend. I’m sure your Padawan will enjoy himself, and I merely wanted your opinion on today’s session, so it’s nothing too serious anyway.” Harbash chuckles and waves his arm towards farther into the Senate halls. “Shall we?”

“Of course, thank you, Senator,” Master Qui-Gon says with a smile and a small bow, before he places his hand on Obi-Wan’s back and starts to lead him down the corridor.

Senator Harbash points at both art and people they pass through the corridors, explaining their history and current relevance to today’s session. He’s a very knowledgeable guide, and Obi-Wan finds himself relaxing, enjoying the way his voice drones on.

They finally reach a large chamber with many senators milling around.

And then...

“I see we have another bright, young Jedi among us, Senator Harbash!”

That voice. _That voice._

Obi-Wan’s insides feel like they freeze to ice. His breathing picks up speed and cold sweat starts to form on the back of his neck.

“Why yes, Senator Palpatine, well spotted. Well spotted indeed,” Senator Harbash says with a chortle. “Let me introduce them to you, I know you hold a fascination with the Jedi Order. This is Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan feels his hands start to tremble. He doesn’t dare to look up, he can’t bear to see _him_.

He can’t—he can’t face him _now_. He’s only thirteen! His body is not strong enough, it does not have the ingrained muscle memories, the stamina, the skills... He _cannot_ face Palpatine now.

Obi-Wan can barely breathe through the panic, his fear leaking into the Force around him as he flinches back from the Senator. No no no _no no no nononononono…_

“Obi-Wan? Padawan, what’s wrong?” Master Qui-Gon crouches down, his back to Palpatine, trying to comfort.

_Master no! Don’t turn your back to him! Oh please don’t show him your back, Master please!_

Obi-Wan knows that he needs to calm down, get himself under control. He _knows_ that he can do it, too. The remnants of the sixty-one year-old has given him an extraordinary control of the Force and himself. He can do this, he can—

He looks up. Palpatine’s eyes narrow and Obi-Wan’s whole body recoils.

_NO!_

He can hear whispers, Senators looking at the scene and speaking amongst themselves. He tries to breathe slowly but Palpatine is _right there_ , the _Sith Lord is standing right there and Obi-Wan’s Master doesn’t know and his back is turned and Master Qui-Gon has already died once to Palpatine’s first apprentice and no no_ No _please Master your back is a target I can’t lose you again Master please please don’t keep your back to the monster he’s waiting he could strike any second the darkness will the darkness his darkness the evil he’s not just Dark master he’s Evil please don’t keep you back turned to him—_

“Breathe, Padawan, please. I know you’re scared, I can feel it, but you need to breathe,” Qui-Gon murmurs gently, but firmly. “Focus on my breathing, Obi-Wan. Try to mimic that, okay? You can do this, I know you can.”

Obi-Wan tries. He tries _so hard_. It’s slow going, but focusing on his Master’s breathing helps. Not with the fear, it’s thick and heavy around him, clinging to his very soul, and he cannot release it. Cannot let go of it and focus on the Force instead.

“Oh dear. Is your apprentice all right, Master Jedi?” Palpatine says, suddenly far closer than he was before.

Crying out like a wounded animal, Obi-Wan throws himself backwards, trying to drag his Master with him. But Master Qui-Gon is so heavy, so very heavy, that Obi-Wan just ends up falling, his head slamming into the polished floor as his Master catches his own balance with a hand.

“Obi-Wan!”

He finds himself swept up in strong arms, and the fear floods over, and the tears come.

_No no nonono! Please Master please save me I can’t do it I can’t lose everything again he’s evil he will kill us he will kill all of us please Master you were the first please you can’t be the first again and I cannot protect you I know everything but I’m too young and too frail yet. I’m only an in-Temple padawan I can’t protect you master please you must live you must you have to protect me you have to stop him don’t let him kill us all please please please—_

“With all due respect, Senator Palpatine, back away from my Padawan.”

Obi-Wan buries his face in his Master’s robes, clutches at them like a lifeline. His head is pounding but he barely feels it over the panicked hammering of his heart and the painful sobs ripping themselves out of his throat.

“I’m dreadfully sorry, Master Jedi, I was merely inquiring about the young one’s health. He seems most distraught.”

Oily, cloying words. Obi-Wan’s knuckles turn white as he clutches his Master’s arm in one hand and his robes in the other. He can feel it, Dark moving toward him, trying to find its way inside to take him over, _change_ him.

“Senator Palpatine,” Master Qui-Gon says politely if sternly, seemingly unsure what more to say. Obi-Wan feels him move away from the man.

“Senator Harbash, I’m afraid I must take my Padawan back to the Temple. I am not certain what has happened, I only know my Padawan cannot remain here.”

Murmured agreement, and Obi-Wan feels his Master move quickly.

“Don’t worry, Padawan mine,” Qui-Gon whispers gently, “I’ll get you back to the Temple, to the mind healers, and you can talk about what happened. Everything’s going to be alright.”

Despite the fact that he should know better, despite the fact that he’s seen everything fall apart once already, Obi-Wan believes him.

  


* * *

  


Obi-Wan wakes slowly, unsure of when he fell asleep. His last memory was of being wrapped in his Master’s arms, heading back to the Temple from the disastrous visit to the Senate.

Part of him is embarrassed by his complete loss of control, by how utterly his fear ruled him. The rest of him knows that trauma leaves traces not easily washed away and being powerless and in front of the greatest evil in the galaxy would leave anyone disastrously afraid.

There’s a large hand stroking his hair. Obi-Wan doesn’t move, makes no sign of having woken up. He wants this peace for just a while longer.

He's not sure how he'll explain this.

Unless he goes into detail about the whole "my soul seems to a travelled back in time and merged with my current self", there's no real way for him to explain his reaction to Palpatine. And even if he does explain it... If he tells anyone about Palpatine now... there's no telling what would happen.

Still... He has to...

"Hello, padawan mine. I'm glad to see you awake again. You gave us all quite a fright, little one." Qui-Gon's voice is soft and warm as he speaks in a hushed tone, hand stilling on Obi-Wan's head.

Obi-Wan lets his eyes flutter open to see his Master's smile—the worry ill-hidden—and Master Hestish's inhumanly pale face change from a calm expression to a small smile.

He hasn't looked closely at her before, he never needed to go see her as a child the first time around, but despite how disconcerting she looks at first—so human, but so very inhuman in the way her eyes, her skin, her hair, lips... _everything_ is white, just like all members of her species—there’s a warmth in her presence that is very soothing.

He allows a small bashful smile spread on his lips.

He's embarrassed.

He shouldn't have lost his grip on himself so completely.

But he hadn't been prepared... he hadn't been prepared _at all_ to meet Palpatine—!

Fear shoots through him anew and he curls in on himself with a wounded noise. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what to say.

The man is _Evil,_ no doubt about it. He's a monster in human guise and if left to his own devices he will commit multiple genocides—including that of the Jedi and _no no no, Obi-Wan can't let it happen again. Not again, he lost it all once already, he cannot do it again. He cannot survive it a second time, he cannot possibly. It will kill him to reach for the Force and feel it_ empty _in a way he's never experienced before. He cannot walk through the Temple halls, surrounded by the dead bodies of his family, friends, and community a second time. It would surely end him._

_He cannot survive Order 66 a second time._

He hiccups, curling in on himself, shaking with fear. He doesn't know what to do.

"We'll get to the bottom of this, Padawan Kenobi. Have no fear, all will be well, child. All will be well." Master Hestish's voice is low and soothing. She sounds so certain, so sure of it, that Obi-Wan cannot help but feel safer. Somehow... he trusts her.

Master Qui-Gon's hand gently strokes the hair on his head again, and Obi-Wan revels in it.

_I will save you, Master. Somehow... some way... I will save you. I won't let you fall like that again, before your time._

He feels Qui-Gon's mind press against his own, and with a small, content smile, Obi-Wan falls asleep.

  


* * *

  


Obi-Wan wakes up to the sound of voices.

"I cannot get a proper feel for _why,_ but Padawan Kenobi is certainly horribly and truly afraid of Senator Palpatine."

He remains still, projects the feeling of a still-sleeping mind. He's curious, and he's certain they would stop speaking if they knew he was awake.

"As Master Hestish says, when we were at the Senate, Obi-Wan's fear manifested almost immediately upon meeting Senator Palpatine, and every word the man said sent my padawan into further hysterics."

A sigh.

"Obi-Wan has very good self-control. He's emotional, certainly, but he usually has a good reign of himself. I have _never_ seen him like that before."

"Believe you, we do. Meet with this Senator, we should. Find the cause of Obi-Wan's fear, we must."

Murmurs.

"A few councillors and Master Hestish should do the trick. We will have to say it's merely to discuss Padawan Kenobi, so Senator Harbash may need to be present as well."

Mace... oh, how Obi-Wan's missed him... Oh, how he's missed all of them. It's been so long.

"I would like to go as well." Master's voice echoes in the sudden silence, and Obi-Wan only barely manages to contain the spike of fear.

_No! Not so soon! I cannot lose you again so soon! Master please!_

"Go, you cannot, Master Jinn. Need you, your padawan does. Wake up alone, he should not."

"But..."

"Negotiable, this is not."

"Yes, Master Yoda."

Sudden fatigue sweeps over Obi-Wan. His body is too young to handle this much stress and fear.

He sleeps.

  


* * *

  


When Obi-Wan wakes up next, it's to a world that seems so different.

The Force sings in his ears and dances in his vision. It reminds him in many ways of being one with the Force, though the memory is fading. He's... He's becoming more and more like the little Obi-Wan he once was, the memories of the older Obi-Wan washing out, fading.

Even so, he knows he'll never be exactly as he was, for he still remembers—though the memories are not as sharp and filled with anguish as when he first knew them—Order 66 and the feeling of losing everything he holds dear and everyone he loves.

"Obi-Wan..." Master Qui-Gon's voice is soft.

Obi-Wan looks at him, he looks... younger. Tired, but younger.

"Master...?"

What has happened?

Qui-Gon smiles and strokes Obi-Wan's cheek. "I do not know how you sensed it, how you felt what you did from Palpatine... But you saved us, little one. Your feelings saved us all, I think." He pulls Obi-Wan into a hug. "He was a Sith, and he fought us—many of the Masters who went are injured—but Master Hestish could sense what he was trying to hide... And the Sith are no more."

Obi-Wan clutches Qui-Gon's robes.

It cannot have been that easy... Could it?

The Force sings in his ears again, and he closes his eyes and leans closer to his Master.

Is that why the memories from old Obi-Wan are fading? Is that why those parts of his soul are taking up less space now? Because he no longer needs them?

Obi-Wan shudders and presses his face into his Master's robes, breathing in the scent of tea and earth.

So there is a new hope for the Jedi then...

He wonders if Luke and Leia will ever come to be... if Anakin will even be born...

Part of him mourns them...

But another part of him is relieved that Anakin may never suffer as he did.

That the galaxy may never fall into the hands of the Sith.

That perhaps, this time, the Jedi can make a difference. Can truly help.

Perhaps dawn is finally arriving.

Obi-Wan laughs.


End file.
